Something Good
by lemonsdarling
Summary: Sissi made this promise to herself, after one bottle of hair dye and a new wardrobe and two less friends, if you could really call Nicolas and Herve that, that she was going to try being a nice person.


Written as a birthday gift for Soul Jelly; takes place inbetween the CL and CLE timelines.

* * *

Sissi checks her phone for the third time, pressing half-heartedly at the keys until it looks like she's texting someone, like she isn't just standing out here on a free afternoon completely and totally alone. When she glances up to check if anyone's watching her, her reflection in the window catches her eye, making her frown as she reaches up to touch fingers to her hair, uncertain; it's still a shock every time she sees herself.

"Do blondes really have more fun?" She whips her head around to glare at the speaker. He grins, pushing away from the pillar to lean against the wall near her. William. She hasn't seen much of him in the past few months, ever since he stopped it with that totally weird doofus act (and she's still not convinced there wasn't something seriously strange going on with him and _them_, no matter what anyone says) and he looks different somehow, now. The clothes and the dark hair are the same, the casual too-cool pose still in place — but he looks tired.

"A cat got your tongue?" He asks, mouth still curling in amusement, the smile not quite reaching his eyes. It unsettles her, and Sissi takes a step back and frowns, annoyed. "None of your business, Dunbar," she snaps, a too-late response to his earlier question. Her hand goes up to touch her hair again, self-conscious, and he keeps staring at her with the same tired smirk on his face.

She feigns indifference and presses another button on her phone, and then adds, when he doesn't step away, "do you want something, William?"

William shrugs and glances down at the ground, his posture deflating. "Guess not," he says to her shoes. Whatever, she thinks, completely confused. He's still totally weird. She turns on her heel and starts to walk away, chancing a glance back at him once she's past the next pillar. He's still standing in the same spot, shoulders slumped — and she sighs, frustrated.

She made this promise to herself, after one bottle of hair dye and a new wardrobe and two less friends, if you could really call Nicolas and Herve that, that she was going to try being a nice person. Think less about herself, more about others, something like that — she isn't really sure what it entails, but she's heard her father sigh and repeat, on more occasions than she can count, _if only you'd tried to be a little bit _nicer_, Elisabeth, we wouldn't be having this conversation._

So Sissi steels herself and flips her hair over her shoulder, turns around and marches back to William. "I don't have any friends," she says, bluntly, and he looks up at her in surprise. She puts her hands on her hips and continues, "I don't think you do, either."

The admission hurts less than it would have a few months ago, until something flashes raw and bitter across William's face in a way that makes her sick to her stomach, reminds her too much of things she wish she didn't remember. He's thinking about _them_, she knows, and her own resentment bubbles up as she thinks of all the times she's trailed after them, and how even now, when they had said she was their friend — nothing's changed.

It's everything she doesn't want to think about. She grabs William by the hand and he stumbles over his feet in surprise as she drags him in the direction of the front gate. "What—" he starts, and Sissi talks over him, "We're going to go do something, outside of school, because we have the afternoon off and we _should_ be having fun, we're not some boring nerds who have nothing better to do than stay at school. And besides," she slows down for a moment, just outside the gate. "We could both use a friend."

And William smiles at her — actually smiles, the kind that creases up into the corners of his eyes — and Sissi realizes, with a rush of satisfaction, that maybe she can get used to this niceness thing.

"The blonde suits you," he says, and she snorts at him.


End file.
